


A Little Fall of Rain

by Cindereliot



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Artist Grantaire, Enjolras & Grantaire Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Nerd Combeferre (Les Misérables), Pining, Pining Combeferre, Pining Grantaire (Les Misérables), Requited Love, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27918370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cindereliot/pseuds/Cindereliot
Summary: No one was more surprised that Grantaire when he managed to successfully stop drinking--with the exception of, perhaps, Enjolras. No one was less surprised that Combeferre.
Relationships: Combeferre/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> While ExR is my favorite couple, sometimes I can't help but think that sweet baby R needs someone a little more gentle. So here that is I guess.

No one was more surprised that Grantaire when he managed to successfully stop drinking--with the exception of, perhaps, Enjolras. No one was less surprised that Combeferre. He had been the one Grantaire had first told about his desire for sobriety. He had been the one the artist had called each time he needed support. Ferre had been there every time with gentle encouragement, unwavering belief, and—most importantly—no judgment when Grantaire slipped backwards.

Of course, Combeferre would have done this for any of his friends. He had been there for Grantaire because he had been asked. At least that's how it had started. Somewhere along the way, he had began to genuinely enjoy spending time with the artist. Somehow that genuine enjoyment had turned into feelings. Now, several months later, Combeferre was in love with Grantaire and had absolutely no hope of the feeling being requited.

Once Grantaire had sobered, he had started to fight less with Enjolras. The two still argued, but now the arguments were more like friendly debates as opposed to the screaming matches they had once been. The two of them began staying late and walking home together after meetings. They spent time together outside of meetings. Everyone had known about the artist’s crush on their leader.

Combeferre may have been a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid. With the way things were going, he knew it was only a matter of time before Enjolras returned Grantaire’s feelings. Ferre might be in love with the man, but, more than anything, he wanted his friends to be happy. He could not— _would not_ —interfere with that. He could— _would_ —ignore his feelings.

Grantaire had, indeed, become closer to Enjolras since becoming sober. There was a part of him that was excited about their new friendship. He was finally going to learn about the man behind the marble. He held on to the possibility that, if they got to be friends, maybe that friendship could develop into something else. Maybe the man who he had been in love with for so long would be able to love him back.

And so, Grantaire had gotten to know Enjolras, the man. They had slowly become friends. Good friends. One night after a meeting, Grantaire was walking with him to dinner and came to the sudden realization that, somewhere along the way, he had _stopped_ loving Enjolras. He still loved him as a friend, but the obsession was gone.

“R? Are you alright?” Enjolras asked, turning back to see why the artist had stopped walking.

Grantaire blinked at the other man. “I don’t love you.”

Enjolras raised one eyebrow. “Pardon?”

“I’m not in love with you.”

“Alright. I’m not in love with you either. Are you going to stand there all night?”

Grantaire shook his head and closed the distance between them. He grabbed the blonde man’s arms. “You don’t understand! I’m not in love with you _anymore_.”

“You were in love with me?”

“I thought so. Before I knew you. _Really_ knew you. God, Enj, I was so in love with you.”

“And now?”

“And now I’m not.” A laugh escaped the artist’s lips. “I don’t know what happened. I love spending time with you. I love that we don’t fight like we used to. I love being your friend. I love you, but I’m not _in love_ with you.”

Enjolras smiled. “Alright. Well, good. I feel the same. So, dinner?”

Grantaire laughed again and threw an arm over his friend’s shoulders. “Sure. Let’s get dinner.” The two men walked down the street, arms around each other, their laughter carrying through the night air.

From a second floor window at the bar, Combeferre watched them disappear around a corner. His heart twisted painfully in his chest. Tonight he would be miserable. He would be happy for his friends tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Combeferre and Grantaire spend the day together and Grantaire has a realization.

The next day, Combeferre woke up to a call from Grantaire. His heart was pounding in his chest as he answered it. There could be several reasons the artist was calling, but Ferre was afraid it would be about the dinner he and Enjolras had been at the night before.

“Hello?” Ferre’s voice was steady despite his erratic pulse.

“Ferre! You’ll never guess what happened!” Grantaire exclaimed cheerfully.

Combeferre squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed the bile rising in his throat. “Well, if I’ll never guess, why don’t you just tell me?”

“You’re no fun.” Combeferre could hear the pout in the other man’s voice.

“R, just tell me.”

Grantaire gave a dramatic sigh. “Fiiiine. So Enj and I got dinner last night, right?”

“Uh huh.” Ferre bit his lip. _Here it comes._

“Well, while we were there, I got a call from the gallery owner and—”

“They’re going to display your paintings?” Combeferre was grinning, partly because the news was not about Enjolras, but mostly because he was genuinely happy for his friend.

Grantaire laughed. “Yes! They sent someone by early this morning to pick them up. They’re going to be installed in the gallery today. Can you believe it, Ferre?”

“Of course I can,” Combeferre stated.

The artist’s laughter faded, but Combeferre could still hear the smile in his voice when he spoke again. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Say things like that as if there was never any doubt.”

“Because I never had any doubt, R. Of course they were going to display your paintings.” _Of course you were going to eventually end up with Enjolras._ “I would have been crazy to doubt you.”

It took a few moments before Grantaire responded. “Ferre—” his voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried once more. “Ferre, seriously, thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The words warmed Combeferre’s heart. “I’m just being honest, R.”

Grantaire laughed again. “Okay, okay. Stop it. You’re going to make me cry. What are you doing today?”

“Nothing. It’s my day off.”

“I know, but do you have any plans?”

“Not until the thing at Jehan’s tonight. Why?”

“Do you want to come with me to the gallery? I just want to see the paintings actually hanging up. I won’t believe it’s real until I see them there. I know that art isn’t really your thing, so if it sounds like a terrible day, don’t feel like you have to come along just to make me happy.” Grantaire finally paused for a breath.

“R! Stop! I’d love to come along with you.”

“Yeah?” The smile was back in his voice.

Combeferre found himself smiling too. “Yeah. What time do you want to go?”

“We could meet for lunch and then head over, if that works for you?”

“Sounds good.”

\----------

Grantaire met Combeferre at his apartment and the two of them walked to lunch together. Ferre insisted on paying. Afterwards, they stopped by the gallery. Grantaire’s paintings were abstract and Combeferre wasn’t sure he actually understood them, but he did know that they were perfect. There was absolutely no doubt about that. He told the artist as much as they walked through the park on their way back to Combeferre’s apartment.

Grantaire blushed. “You don’t know much about art, Ferre.”

“I know you’re excellent at it. What else do I need to know?”

His blush deepened. “Thanks.”

Ferre smiled in response. After a moment, he could no longer silence the question that had been on the tip of his tongue all day. “Why did you ask me to come with you today?”

Grantaire looked up at him, surprise evident on his face. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“As you said, I don’t know much about art. Was everyone else busy?” He hated himself the moment the words left his lips.

The other man just shrugged. “I don’t know. You were the first person I asked. Actually, you’re the only person that I’ve told.”

It was Combeferre’s turn to be surprised. “What? I thought they called while you were with Enjolras. Surely he must know.”

Grantaire shrugged again. “I didn’t hear my phone ring. They left a voicemail. I returned the call on my way home. I called you right after they picked up the paintings.”

The two men walked on in a comfortable silence. Grantaire was thinking about his words. He hadn’t even considered why he’d wanted to call Combeferre first. It had just seemed like the natural thing to do. He hadn’t thought about telling anyone else yet. He would see them later that night at Jehan’s. He would tell them all then.

The two of them stopped and sat on a bench. Neither had anything to do until that night, and it was a beautiful day. They were in no hurry to get home. Grantaire looked over at Combeferre and asked himself again why Ferre had been the first one he had called. Sure, they were close, but he was close with all of their friends. He thought of the words Combeferre had said that morning. _I would have been crazy to doubt you._ Maybe that’s why he had called him. Combeferre was kind and gentle and always said exactly the right thing.

A large blue butterfly landed on Ferre’s hand, and the man’s face lit up. “R, look!” he whispered.

Grantaire smiled as his friend began to talk in depth about the butterfly. He was overcome with a desire to sketch him. He wanted to capture the brightness of his eyes as he spoke about one of his many passions. He wanted to get the color of his faint blush exactly right. He wanted to trace the smile that was tugging on his lips. Then, more than anything, Grantaire wanted to kiss those lips.

_Wait, what?_

The artist blinked. The thought had come completely unbidden, but now that it was there, he couldn’t say that he was all that surprised by it. He had felt warmth around Combeferre for a few months now, but he had assumed it was just the other man’s calming presence. Now he realized it was something else entirely.

Combeferre was still looking at the butterfly on his hand. When it flew away, he watched it go with a grin. Grantaire watched him watch it. He loved that grin. Ferre finally met his eyes and the artist’s breath caught in his throat. _Oh._

He was fucked.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grantaire seeks advice from Enjolras and Les Amis go on a trip to a cabin in the woods.

For several weeks, nothing happened. Grantaire and Enjolras continued to spend a lot of time together. Combeferre didn’t understand why they wouldn’t just started dating already and get it over with. He couldn’t bring himself to ask either of them what was going on. The answer would make it real.

While Ferre struggled to figure out what was going on between R and Enj, Grantaire struggled to come to terms with his newly discovered feelings for Combeferre. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Enj?” the artist asked as the two men walked toward their usual coffee shop.

“Hm?” Enjolras hummed, clearly distracted.

“Do you think that Ferre could ever like me?”

“What are you talking about? Of course Ferre likes you.”

“No. I mean, in a _romantic_ way.”

This got the blonde man’s attention. He stopped walking and turned to look Grantaire full in the face. “Are you saying that you like Combeferre in a romantic way?” he asked carefully.

Grantaire felt his blush rising. “I-I do.”

Enjolras studied the artist’s face for a long moment before nodding sharply and continuing toward the coffee shop. “Right then. Well, I’m not great with these things.”

R sighed. “Look, Enj, please just be honest with me. I know I’m not good enough for him. I just…I don’t know. I just wanted to know if I might have a tiny chance.”

“I’m not trying to let you down gently, R. I really don’t know. I don’t think about Combeferre’s romantic life. He doesn’t talk about it with me.”

“But you’re his best friend, Enj. You must have some idea.”

Enjolras shrugged. “I don’t pay attention to things like this. I just care if he’s happy. I just care if the person he’s with treats him right.” He shot Grantaire another look. “You do actually like him, right? This isn’t just, like, a sex thing?”

“What? No! I really like him. I just don’t think I have a chance.”

“Why not?”

“I told you. I’m not good enough for him.”

“What are you talking about? Of course you are."

Grantaire stared at him like he had sprouted a second head. “ _What?!_ ”

“Of course you’re good enough for him. You care about him. You wouldn’t hurt him. You do little things that make him happy. I might not notice romance, but I can at least tell when my friends are happy, and you make him happy. You should talk to him.”

Grantaire blinked in shock. He wanted to argue, but Enjolras had made it seem so simple. Maybe he really did have a chance. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ll think about it,” he finally conceded.

“Good,” Enjolras grinned.

\----------

Grantaire was still thinking about it the next month when the group decided to go on an impromptu camping trip. Courfeyrac’s friend had a cabin that they were going to borrow for a long weekend. If he was going to talk to Combeferre, the trip would present a perfect opportunity for it.

It was a big ‘if’ though.

Combeferre seriously considered trying to get out of going on the trip with his friends. He knew that it would do him good to get out of the city for a long weekend, but he really didn’t want to be stuck in a cabin with Grantaire and Enjolras whispering to each other as they had been for the last month. He had hoped his feelings would fade, but he’d had no such luck. If anything, he fell in love a little bit more every time he saw the artist. It was torture.

Unsurprisingly, he put his friends first and went on the trip anyway. That was what he did. Going with them would make his friends happy, and their happiness was more important than his own.

He was the last to arrive at the cabin. Everyone else had driven up together in Courf’s van, but Ferre had gotten off work late. At least, that’s what he had told everyone. He had really just wanted a way to escape if he decided to leave at any point during the weekend. He walked in, bag slung over his shoulder, and was immediately informed by Courfeyrac that he would be staying in the room at the very end of the hall with Grantaire and Jehan.

Combeferre nodded, ignoring the fluttering in his stomach, and headed down the hallway to drop his bag in the room. He paused when he heard a voice from behind a cracked door.

“It just, he’s so _perfect_. He’s so smart and funny and perfect. And his eyes! Have you ever noticed how incredibly blue they are? And the way he looks in that red shirt! Not that it’s only about his looks. Of course it isn’t. I love his looks, sure, but nothing compares to his mind. God, I could listen to him talk for hours. I could listen to him talk _forever_. About anything.”

It was Grantaire. Grantaire was talking about Enjolras. He was telling someone all the things he loved about Enjolras.

Combeferre felt sick. He had already known all of this, but it hurt to hear the words aloud. He hurried down the hallway away from Grantaire’s voice.

If he had waited just another moment, he would have heard the voice that responded to Grantaire’s words of admiration.

“R, I know. You’re in love with him. I get it. But what are you going to _do_ about it?” Enjolras asked.

“I didn’t say I was in love with him,” Grantaire said petulantly.

“It’s okay, R. You can say it. It might make you feel better.”

The artist hesitated. “I-I love him.” He knew the words were true the moment he said them. “Holy shit. You’re right. I’m in love with him, Enj. I’m in love with Combeferre.”

Enjolras smirked. “Good. Now that you’ve gotten that out of the way, what are you planning on doing about it?”

“What can I do about it?”

“Tell him.”

“Just, tell him?”

“Why not?” Enjolras shrugged. “Ferre appreciates honesty.”

“What if he freaks out about it?”

He gave Grantaire an incredulous look. “Seriously? When has Combeferre ever freaked out about anything, ever? Even if he didn’t return your feelings—calm down, I’m not saying he doesn’t—he would be kind about it.”

He knew that Enjolras was right. Combeferre would never be cruel. “So, just tell him.”

“Just tell him.”

Grantaire sighed dramatically. “I can’t ‘just tell him’. He’s special. He deserves something special.”

Enjolras smiled fondly at his friend. “Okay, then go find some nice nature spot with him tomorrow and tell him there.”

“You think it would work?”

“You won’t know until you try it, but I think you have a good chance, R. I really do.”

Grantaire nodded, mind made up. “Okay. I’ll do it.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Combeferre and Grantaire go on a walk.

That night was one of the longest of Combeferre’s life. Jehan had taken the single bed which left Ferre with no other choice but to share the double bed with Grantaire. There was hardly enough room for the two of them. Their shoulders brushed slightly when they were both lying on their backs. Combeferre turned to his side, facing away from the other man.

“Are you alright, Ferre?” Grantaire asked.

“Of course. I just wanted to make sure you had enough room.”

“I do.” There was a pause. “Combeferre?”

Ferre didn’t trust his voice not to shake, so he just hummed in response.

Another pause. “Never mind. Goodnight, Ferre.”

“Goodnight, R.”

It took hours for Combeferre to finally drift off to sleep. When he woke in the morning, he found he had turned toward Grantaire in the night. His hand was lying gently on the artist’s chest, and his face was tucked against his shoulder. For one perfect moment, he allowed himself to stay there and drink in the sensation of being close to the man he loved.

Then his rational side took over. He didn’t want to know what would happen if Grantaire woke up to find Combeferre consciously snuggling with him. He gently moved away, careful not to wake the other man, and slipped out of bed.

There was coffee already waiting in the kitchen, and Combeferre silently thanked whoever had woken up early enough to make it. He had barely gotten any sleep. All he wanted was some strong coffee, some quiet, and a book. That would be enough to forget the night before and the words he had overheard Grantaire speaking about Enjolras. At least for awhile anyway. Unfortunately, his peace didn’t last for long.

An hour later, Grantaire found him outside with his book. “Hey, Ferre. How did you sleep?”

Combeferre looked up at him. His black curls were still damp from a shower and his skin was rosy. It was adorable. He found himself grinning. “Very well, and yourself?”

Grantaire returned Ferre’s grin. “Best night’s sleep I’ve had in a long time.” He dropped down beside the other man. “So. Ferre.”

“Yes?”

“I was thinking about taking a walk. Want to come?”

Combeferre frowned. Why would Grantaire want to go on a walk with him? Shouldn’t he be asking Enjolras? God. What if he wanted to ask Ferre for advice _about_ Enjolras? He couldn’t do that. He could force himself to be happy for them when they got together, but he couldn’t bring himself to be the one responsible for it. “I don’t think so, R. I was just going to sit out here and read.”

Grantaire’s face fell. “Oh. It was just that Courf told me about this view at the end of the trail over there. He made it sound so pretty. I wanted to sketch it. But, of course, if you don’t want to go, it’s fine. I can go alone. I don’t mind. I’m sorry for bothering you.” He offered Combeferre a smile, but his eyes were sad.

Ferre’s heart twisted painfully. His refusal had hurt the artist. He didn’t want that. He couldn’t stand to be the one who put that sad smile on his face. When Grantaire moved to stand up, Combeferre reached out and grabbed his arm. “I’ll go,” he said without thinking.

Grantaire's smile was still sad. “No, Ferre, it’s fine. I’m not going to force you to do something that you don’t want to do.”

Combeferre stood up and held his hand out to the artist. “Taire, I want to go. I can read while you’re sketching. It’ll be nice.”

R took Ferre’s outstretched hand and allowed the other man to help him to his feet. He was still hesitant when he spoke. “If you’re sure.”

“I am.” Combeferre could listen to him talk about Enjolras. He could listen to him talk about anything as long as he never looked that sad again.

Finally, Grantaire’s smile brightened. “Alright. Let’s go.”

To Combeferre’s surprise, he didn’t seem to want to talk about Enjolras at all.

“How has work been, Ferre? I feel like I haven’t seen you in awhile.”

“It’s been busy lately. It’s this time of the year. Everyone gets sick.” Combeferre’s response was easy. It was also a lie. The hospital hadn’t been any busier than usual, he had just been going out of his way to avoid having to see Grantaire and Enjolras together. He still saw them at meetings, but work provided a convenient excuse to get out of any extra gatherings.

“I’m glad you were about to get away to come up here with us,” Grantaire was saying.

Something in the artist’s voice made Combeferre smile. “So am I.”

The pair walked the rest of the way in a comfortable silence. Grantaire seemed content, but Ferre couldn’t shake the feeling that he had been asked to come along because the artist had something to talk to him about away from the others. The feeling had him on edge.

When they finally reached the end of the of the trail, both men stopped short. The thick trees had suddenly cut away revealing a small clearing. In the clearing was a pond with a waterfall cascading down from the cliff above. A kaleidoscope of colorful wildflowers grew in patches around the clearing.

“Courf was right,” Grantaire grinned. “This is perfect.”

Combeferre followed the other man closer to the pond and dropped down beside him under a tree. Grantaire immediately opened his sketchbook and started to draw. Ferre watched him for a moment. He loved the far off look in the artist’s eyes when he was focused on something. It was as if everything but the subject of his drawing faded completely away. Combeferre had decided long ago that he would love to have that look focused on him.

Eventually, Combeferre forced his eyes away from his friend and onto his book. The two men passed most of the morning in this way. Around noon, Grantaire set his sketchbook aside and stretched. His movement drew Combeferre’s attention away from what he was reading.

“Can I see?” he asked, nodding at the abandoned sketchbook.

“Sure.” Grantaire passed the book to him.

Combeferre studied the charcoal sketch. It was beautiful. “R, this is perfect.”

The other man blushed. “It’s just a sketch, Ferre.”

“Stop that. It may be a sketch, but it’s really good.” Combeferre’s fingers were itching to flip through the other sketches in the book. “Do you mind if I look at the rest of them?”

Grantaire’s blush deepened, but he nodded.

That was all Combeferre needed. He turned back to the first page. As much as he wanted to see the other man’s art as quickly as possible, he forced himself to turn the pages slowly. Grantaire was private about his drawings. This may be the only chance he got to look through one of these sketchbooks. Combeferre was going to savor it.

The sketches covered a variety of subjects. A spotted puppy playing with a little girl. A wilting flower, long forgotten on a windowsill. Courfeyrac reaching out to tug on Jehan’s braid. Joly’s head thrown back in laughter. Two old women feeding birds on a park bench. A pile of books beside a steaming cup of coffee. Enjolras in the midst of a fiery speech. Marius gazing at Cosette. Combeferre smiling gently at something off the page. Some of the pictures were clearly more hurried than others, but all of them were beautiful.

Combeferre turned another page and his breath caught in his throat. It was another picture of him. He was sitting on a bench, looking down at a butterfly that had landed on his hand. He was clearly in the middle of a science rant. It was the only picture in the sketchbook that was in full color.

Grantaire cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to see that one.”

“Why not? It’s wonderful,” Combeferre breathed, still not looking up from the picture.

“It’s just a sketch,” came Grantaire’s automatic response.

“No, it’s more than that.” Finally, Ferre looked up. The artist looked anxious. “Seriously, R. This is amazing. Is there any way you’d let me keep it?” He wanted evidence that the artist had been this incredibly focused on him at least once.

“No!” Grantaire shouted, then hurried to explain. “I mean, of course you can. I just wanted to paint it first. I was going to give you the painting if it turned out alright.” He paused again before adding weakly, “Surprise.”

Combeferre smiled. “I’d like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Grantaire’s grin was blinding. Combeferre was unable to resist leaning forward, desperate to know what the artist tasted like. He almost imagined Grantaire was leaning in as well.

Then the sky broke open, and it was raining.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two idiots finally get their shit together.

Grantaire could not believe his luck. He had been about to tell Combeferre how he felt. Or kiss him. Or maybe both. Then it started to rain. The two of them had jumped up and ran down the path, trying to get back to the cabin before the storm got worse. Of course that didn’t happen. They were soaked to the skin in minutes. Just when they both felt like they might actually drown in the downpour, they reached the cabin and pushed their way inside.

“Where is everyone?” Combeferre asked when he realized that no one else was there.

“It looks like Courf left a note saying they all went into the town to get something to cook for dinner tonight. They probably won’t try to drive back until the rain slows down.” The artist frowned down at the paper that had been left sitting on the table beside the door.

“I guess we should get out of these wet clothes,” Ferre said after a beat of silence, his cheeks turning pink.

Grantaire’s mouth went dry, but he nodded in agreement. The two of them made their way to their bedroom. R turned his back on the other man and peeled off his wet clothes. He forced himself to ignore that the man he was in love with was only a few feet away, and they were both basically naked. He pulled on his pajama pants and a dry t-shirt. When he turned back around, Ferre was standing there, dressed, cleaning the water off of his glasses. Grantaire sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. This was not how he had imagined the day going.

“Your hands are shaking.”

He looked up. “What?”

“Your hands are shaking,” Combeferre repeated patiently.

Grantaire looked down at his hands. They were, indeed, trembling. “I’m just a little bit cold.” It wasn’t a complete lie.

Combeferre reached out and took Grantaire’s rough hands in his own smooth ones. He gently tried to rub some warmth back into them. All the while, the artist’s heart was pounding. He knew Ferre was only trying to be kind. This was something he would do for any of their friends. It didn’t take long before his hands were warm again, but R didn’t move to take them back from Combeferre. Combeferre didn’t drop them either.

Eventually, Ferre broke the silence. “We could, um, that is, it might be warmer if we got under the blankets.”

Grantaire nodded mutely, not trusting himself to speak. He reluctantly withdrew his hands from Combeferre’s and slipped under the covers. Ferre followed suit. They sat there in silence until R noticed that Ferre was shivering.

“You’re still cold,” Grantaire pointed out.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Come here.” His voice left no room for argument. He opened his arms. Combeferre hesitated for only a moment before he allowed the artist to pull him to his chest and wrap the blankets more firmly around them both. He prayed that Ferre wouldn’t notice the erratic beating of his heart. In an effort to calm himself, he stared at the ceiling and focused on how soothing the solid warmth of Combeferre beside him was.

\----------

When Grantaire woke up, it was still pouring. It took him a moment to realize where he was. It took him another moment to realize that he was tightly curled around Combeferre in the bed they were sharing. They had both fallen asleep. Without thinking, he snuggled closer to the other man’s warmth. That’s when he realized something else: his dick was incredibly hard and pressed tightly against his friend’s ass.

Grantaire slowly angled his hips away from Combeferre. He didn’t think he could move his arms without waking the other man, but at the very least, he could try to make sure his erection wasn’t the first thing that Ferre noticed.

Before he could even attempt to free his arms, he felt Combeferre stir. A moment later, he was snuggling back into the artist’s warm embrace. Grantaire automatically tightened his arms around the other man. Unfortunately, this made it very easy for him to tell the exact moment when Combeferre realized that he was hard. The taller man froze for a second and then slowly started to turn around to look at R.

Grantaire took the opportunity to free his arms and sit up. He shrank in on himself. This was decidedly not how he wanted Combeferre to find out about his feelings. “I-I’m so sorry, Ferre,” he stuttered, not meeting his friend’s eyes.

“You don’t need to be sorry, R. It’s a completely normal reaction to the close proximity of another warm body.” Combeferre’s voice was kind.

“Stop.”

Ferre frowned. “Stop what?”

Grantaire sighed heavily. “Stop being so kind and understanding. God, Ferre, if you _knew_.”

“Knew what?” he asked, frown still in place.

“It’s not just a reaction to some random warm body. It’s a reaction to _you_.”

“You’re attracted to me?” Combeferre’s voice was hardly more than a whisper.

“No! Well, yes. I am. Very. That’s not the point I’m trying to make though.” R raked his hand roughly through his curls. “Jesus, Combeferre. I’m in _love_ with you.” He paused to take a shaky breath. He was able to hear the other man’s slight gasp. He winced. “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’ll try to get over it. I know it’s stupid. You’re so perfect, and I’m—well, I’m me. I promise I won’t let this ruin our friend—” Grantaire was silenced by Combeferre’s mouth on his.

When he didn’t immediately respond, Ferre started to pull away. That was all it took for the artist to come back to his senses. He wound his fingers through Combeferre’s hair and kept him firmly in place. Now that he fully realized what was going on, Grantaire’s response was enthusiastic.

Several long minutes later, Ferre pulled away. Both men were out of breath. Grantaire moved to close the space between them again, but Combeferre stopped him. “No.” When R’s face fell, he rushed to explain. “I want to. I do. We just need to talk about this first.”

“Alright,” Grantaire said cautiously. “What do we need to talk about?”

Combeferre bit his lip. He may as well just get right to the point. “You’re in love with me?”

The artist blushed, but he nodded. “I am,” he confirmed, his voice shaking slightly.

“What about Enjolras?” Ferre immediately wished he could take the words back, even though he knew it was something that needed to be addressed.

Grantaire frowned, confused. “What about him?”

“You’re in love with him.”

“I was.”

“And now?”

He shrugged. “And now I’m not.”

“You two are always together,” Combeferre pointed out, not quite willing to let himself believe that Grantaire was actually over their blonde leader. Not quite allowing himself to believe that R actually wanted _him_.

Grantaire looked at Ferre like he was crazy. “Well, we’re actually friends now. Why wouldn’t we be spending time together?”

He had a point, but then Combeferre remembered what he had heard the day before. “What about yesterday?”

“What happened yesterday?” Grantaire asked, tilting his head slightly.

Ferre felt his cheeks heating as he explained, “I happened to be heading to put my bag in here when I heard you talking to someone in another room…” he trailed off when Grantaire burst out laughing.

“What exactly did you hear, Ferre?” he asked once his laughter was under control.

Combeferre’s blush deepened. “You were talking about all the things you love about Enjolras. How perfect you think he is. How smart and funny he is. His blue eyes. How you could listen to him talk for hours.” He tried unsuccessfully to keep the bitterness he was feeling from creeping into his words.

Grantaire just shook his head in disbelief. “I wasn’t talking about Enjolras.”

“Yes you were. You had to be. You talked about how he looked in a red shirt. 99% of what Enj wears is red.” Ferre looked down at his hands.

R slowly reached out and cupped his cheek. He gently turned Combeferre’s face so he could look the other man in the eye. “Combeferre. I wasn’t talking about Enjolras. I was talking _to_ him. About you.”

“What?”

A half smile played across Grantaire’s lips. “I was talking about all the things I love about _you_. _You_ are smart and funny and perfect. _Your_ eyes are incredibly blue. I could listen to _you_ talk for hours. The red shirt I was talking about was the one _you_ wore to the meeting last week.”

Oh. _Oh_. Combeferre allowed himself a small smile. “You’re in love with me?”

“I’m in love with you,” Grantaire confirmed.

Combeferre surged forward and kissed the artist. This kiss was far longer and less chaste than the first. Much later, the two reluctantly parted. The rain had stopped. They could hear their friends making noise in the main area of the cabin. They knew they should join them.

As the two men climbed out of the bed and tried to fix their disheveled appearances, Combeferre’s hand found Grantaire’s and squeezed it tightly. “If it wasn’t clear before, I’m in love with you too.” 

There were no words to describe the warmth Grantaire felt bloom in his chest. He had never felt anything equal to it. He squeezed Ferre’s hand back and placed a quick kiss on his lips. “Well, thank god for that,” he laughed.

When they made their way out to their friends, it took the others several minutes to notice that the pair were holding hands. Once they did, there were cheers and congratulations. Grantaire hadn’t been aware that everyone had known he had fallen for Ferre, though he really shouldn’t have been surprised. He had admitted it to Courfeyrac the day before. There was no way it was going to be a secret for long.

Not that it mattered anymore.

Enjolras was the only one who didn’t join in the celebratory cheers. He was reading in a corner of the room, and appeared not to notice the commotion. However, once everyone had quieted down, he looked up from his book. His eyes found Grantaire’s and he mouthed, “I told you so” with wicked grin. Grantaire rolled his eyes, but returned the smile. This was one time he didn’t mind being wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I've been having a rough week, so I needed these two idiots to cheer me up. Hope you enjoyed it xx


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